


and i'm gonna get on my knees

by whitchbhitch



Series: Cape Cod Dirtbags 'verse [3]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: (again very light cbt), (explanation for under-negotiated kink in the authors notes), Anal Fingering, Cock & Ball Torture, Crushes, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Feelings, Halloween Costumes, Light BDSM, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Photography, Praise Kink, So Much Dirty Talk, Under-negotiated Kink, Verbal Humiliation, sub space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21867118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchbhitch/pseuds/whitchbhitch
Summary: The drive from Boston to UConn isn’t bad at all. Only an hour and a half. And he’s only going for a weekend. By all accounts, this should be a casual trip.Mike is not being casual about this trip.He knows why. He knows it’s because he’ll be seeing Tom for the first time in two months. But he’s projecting it all over the place; onto the drive, onto packing, onto finding a costume.Why the fuck did he agree to come over Halloweekend?
Relationships: Michael Latta/Tom Wilson
Series: Cape Cod Dirtbags 'verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548988
Comments: 10
Kudos: 140





	and i'm gonna get on my knees

**Author's Note:**

> This is... maybe the nastiest thing I have ever written and baby that is SAYING SOMETHING! 
> 
> I put in the under-negotiated kink tag in because things sort of evolve-slash-devolve and they never SPECIFICALLY like, sit each other down and say, "Is this okay with you?" but they do check in with each other as things are happening.
> 
> Like truly. So nasty. Please enjoy.
> 
> Title is, as always with this 'verse, from the original North East dirtbags themselves, the Front Bottoms.

The drive from Boston to UConn isn’t bad at all. Only an hour and a half. And he’s only going for a weekend. By all accounts, this should be a casual trip.

Mike is not being casual about this trip.

He knows why. He knows it’s because he’ll be seeing Tom for the first time in two months. But he’s projecting it all over the place; onto the drive, onto packing, onto finding a costume.

Why the _fuck_ did he agree to come over Halloweekend?

He’s staring at his underwear drawer. He’s extremely stressed about the content of his underwear drawer. None of them seem… correct? Nice enough? Gay enough, maybe? What made underwear gay? He wasn’t sure, but he knew none of his were.

His door opened, and his friend, Isabela stuck her head in. He had met her and her girlfriend, Elle, at the Bisexual Alliance, BU’s bisexual club. He had very nervously slunk in at the back, and they had adopted him immediately.

“Hi bud,” she said. “Still worried about underwear?”

“Yes! Of course I am!”

“You’ve been staring into the contents of your underwear drawer like it holds the secrets of the universe for like 30 straight minutes now. Either pick a couple out or go buy some new ones.”

He sighs and grabs a couple of perfectly fine boxer briefs at random.

“You figured out what you’re going as, yet?” Isa crossed the room to sit on his desk chair, put her feet up on the desk.

“No,” Mike sighed. “I guess I could always go as a hockey player.”

“Boooo,” said Isa, giving him a thumbs down. “That’s like, the least sexy sports man to go as. You gotta be slutty, dude, this year of all years.”

“What’re you going as? Is it slutty?”

“Hell yeah! I’m going as Mary Read, the female pirate! She used to fight with one titty out to show the men she fought that they were being beaten by a woman. But I can’t have one titty out because it’s ‘indecent exposure’, so my shirt’s just open down to my belly button. Ellie’s gonna go as my parrot. We are going to be _extremely_ cute.”

“Sounds like it,” says Mike. “God dude, I don’t know. I’m so nervous, but I don’t even know what I’m nervous _about_.”

“Maybe getting fucked in the ass for the first time? I was nervous the first time I did it, too. But it’s fun, as long as you can get over the whole, like, dick in your butt thing.” She jumps as her phone starts to buzz. “Ah, it’s my mom. I have to answer or she’ll think I’ve died. I hope this was helpful.”

“Literally not at all,” said Mike.

“Just go as a sexy sports man! But not hockey, you’ve got too many pads. And those little shorts are weird.” She answers her phone as she leaves, immediately launching into rapid Spanish.

Mike bites his lip, looks around the room. He doesn’t _think_ he’s nervous about getting fucked. Or at least, that’s not the biggest thing. He’s fingered himself a couple of times, and liked it, but the angle was weird and it’s hard to get long enough private time with a roommate. He’s mostly nervous about… Tom. Seeing him again. Going to visit him, to stay over at his place. What if they don’t like each other when they’re not working together? What if that first hookup was a one off, and Tom doesn’t even want to hook up again, and he’s working himself up over nothing?

He shakes his head. There’s nothing he can do about what Tom wants, and he won’t know until he gets there. He drums his fingers on the dresser. What _is _the sexiest sport?

///

Mike gets to UConn at about 5. He was right—the drive was nothing. He parks in the parking lot Tom told him to, texts, “_I’m here”_ while sitting in the car. Then he takes a deep breath, grabs his bag, and walks up to Tom’s dorm.

Tom’s already down there, waiting for him outside the building. He’s cut his hair—it used to be long, almost down to his shoulders. Now, it’s almost a superman cut, short on the sides and long on top, still with some of it flopping into his eyes. Mike likes it. It makes Tom look… dashing. Like he should be in a boyband, like Mike should have a poster of him up on his wall.

“Hey, man,” says Tom, smiling big. He goes in for the hug immediately, giving Mike a huge slap on the back. “Thanks for coming down.”

“Well, thanks for having me,” says Mike.

“Of course,” says Tom, like it’s easy, like Mike didn’t spend forty minutes agonizing over Tom’s _“what’re u doin over halloweekend?”_ text before literally just saying _“don’t know”_. He'd spent forty minutes on that response. But Tom just invited him over like it was nothing, like it was simple. It doesn’t feel simple to Mike.

They hang out in Tom’s room for a few hours, playing video games and talking shit, before they head to dinner. It’s comforting to Mike that college dining hall food just sort of seems to be the same everywhere. Their feet keep bumping under the table, and Mike fully can’t figure out if it’s on purpose or not. Maybe they’re just two big guys sitting at one table. But when Mike looks up at Tom, after their feet brush for like the 20th time, Tom winks. So maybe not.

They head back to Tom’s room to get ready. Tom has a single, thank god: that’s one worry off of Mike’s mind about tonight. Tom heads to the bathroom with his costume—“I want it to be a surprise, dude!”—and so Mike gets into his. He didn’t want to drag around a bat all night, and he forgot his cleats back on the Cape, but as he puts his cap on his head and turns around to look at his ass in his pants, he thinks he makes a pretty sexy baseball player.

Tom knocks at the door.

“It’s your own door, dumbass,” says Mike.

“Yeah, but I wanted to make sure you were ready!” Tom sticks his head arounds and bursts into laughter. “Oh my fucking God,” he says, and opens the door all the way.

Tom is dressed as a football player.

“Hey, great minds think alike?” asks Mike.

“Yeah, or idiots,” says Tom. He comes to stand next to Mike in the mirror. Tom has the whole nine yards on: a jersey, the pants, the socks, a helmet under his arm. He’s even wearing the pads, and Mike, in his baseball uniform, looks even smaller next to Tom than he might usually. He swallows.

“God, this is hilarious,” says Tom. “I just went with this because it was easy, and it would make my ass look good.”

“Honestly? Same,” says Mike, and laughs.

“You wanna do each other’s eye black?” asks Tom, going to pick up a little container on his desk.

There’s nothing that Mike can imagine would be more agonizing right now than gently touching Tom’s face, or having Tom touch his.

“For sure,” Mike says.

///

Mike’s pretty relieved to find that, really, UConn parties aren’t all that different from BU parties. He didn’t figure there would be this great big difference, but he had been nervous all the same. To go to the party. To meet Tom’s friends.

Tom’s friends at school, Mike is relieved to find out, are just like Tom’s friends at home. A bunch of friendly jocks. They get teased a little bit about their matching outfits—someone calls it a couple’s costume, which hits a little closer to home than Mike might like—but soon attention turns to what is truly important on Halloween: getting extremely fucked up. But Mike notices Tom is taking it easy, and so Mike does too. He doesn’t want to be too drunk to remember, in case something happens.

They make the rounds to three different parties, and each time, Tom introduces him the same.

“This is Mike, my friend from home.”

Every time, Mike smiles and waves and doesn’t think about the fact that he knows what Tom’s dick tastes like, how it feels in his mouth. Tom’s been so casual all night, Mike’s terrified that he’s accidentally read this wrong, somehow. That Tom doesn’t actually want to hook up at all.

Mike’s severely stressed about it until, right around midnight, Tom boxes him against the wall, leans in, and whispers, “The way you’ve been wrapping your lips around those beer bottles has been driving me fucking crazy all night.”

Mike swallows the beer currently in his mouth. “Yeah?” he asks, looking up at Tom. They’re being—well, they’re being pretty fucking obvious, with Tom pushing Mike up against the wall, faces so close they’re touching. But if Tom doesn’t care, Mike doesn’t either.

“You fucking tease,” says Tom. “All I’ve wanted all night was to drag you home and fuck you.”

“Well, what’re you waiting for?”

Tom grins and grabs the bottle out of Mike’s hand, tosses it in the trash. As they leave, one of Tom’s teammates comes up the right way around from a keg stand, points a finger at them, and screams “GET IT IN, BRO!” so Mike figures Tom’s out to his team.

The campus is busy as they walk across it. They pass a group of giggling girls dressed as sexy witches, four guys dressed as the Tellytubby’s. Mike hears the purr of a woman’s voice emerging from a second story window: “Hey Tom, what’cha up to?”

But Tom just shakes his head, grabs onto Mike’s hand. “Sorry Kalina, not tonight.”

“Oh, boo,” says the voice, but she’s laughing, too, and when Mike strains his eyes, he can see the outline of a woman in devil horns, the edges of a sharp, angular face in the window.

By the time they get to Tom’s dorm, Mike is wound tight with tension. They stomp up the stairs so fast, Tom trips, and they’re both still giggling when they close the door behind them.

“Wait, don’t turn on the lights,” says Tom. Mike hears Tom fumble for something on the nearby desk, then a click, and a strip of lights that seem to be stuck to the ceiling around the perimeter of Tom’s room turn on, start slowly pulsing different colors.

“Cool, right?” asks Tom, grinning.

“Yeah, sure,” says Mike, and rips his shirt over his head, barely even bothering with the buttons.

“God, fuck, you’re so hot,” says Tom, and shoves him against the closed door, dives in to get his mouth on one of Mike’s nipples, sucks hard. 

Mike gasps, snaps his head back, and accidentally smashes the back of his head against the door.

"Oh my god!" says Tom. "Are you okay?"

Mike blinks a couple of times. "...Ouch."

Tom smiles crookedly. "Let's move to the bed, huh? Less chance of damage there."

"Sounds good."

They don't touch as they walk over to the bed, and rapidly, Mike is anxious again. Tom takes off his own shirt, but doesn't bother with the pads yet, sits on the edge of the bed and guides Mike by his hips to stand in front of him, between Tom's legs.

"Hey, man, you good?" he asks. 

Mike looks down at Tom, shrugs. "I mean, yeah. I don't know."

"Because we don't have to do anything you don't want to. I know I talked a big game the last time we hooked up, but I can just bottom again, or we could just like, hang out--"

Mike cracks a smile. "I'll be honest with you, bud, I didn't drive down here from Massachusetts to just hang out."

Tom laughs. "Fair enough. But still, you know--"

"Yeah, I know. I want to bottom."

"Okay."

"I do!"

"No, no, I believe you."

"Like, you can't blame me for being a _little_ bit nervous."

"Oh, hell no. I was super nervous the first time I bottomed, but look. Hey. It's all about being relaxed, okay? So why don't I--" and with this, Tom brings a hand up to cup Mike through his baseball pants, "help you relax?"

"Oh, okay, smooth talker," says Mike, laughing. "Twist my arm."

Tom gives him a little sideways grin, then squeezes down on Mike through his pants. Mike gasps and rocks forward on his toes a little. 

"Eager, huh?" asks Tom. 

Mike shrugs, embarrassed. 

"That's okay," says Tom, smiling. "I like it." And with that, he presses the fabric taut across Mike's cock, leans in and sucks the tip through his pants. Mike moans and winds his hands through the straps of Tom's football pads. Tom pulls off, just a little, breathes hot over the head before sucking again, rubbing his hand along the rest of Mike's cock.

"C'mon," says Mike, "do it for real."

Tom gives one final suck, then leans back to unzip Mike's pants. As Tom's pulling them down he sneaks a hand around to Mike's ass, and stops.

"Is that... are you wearing a jockstrap?" 

"Yeah. For authenticity." Really, Mike just didn't want the lines of his underwear to ruin how his ass looked in the pants.

"For authen... you son of a bitch." Mike yelps as Tom twists them, getting the element of surprise and throwing Mike down on the bed. Tom pulls Mike's pants all the way off, quickly pulling his pads over his head as well. "This whole night, huh? You were standing next to me this whole night, just wearing these little--Jesus," and Tom crawls over Mike, kisses him hard. 

Tom kisses down Mike's neck, sucking a hard bruise underneath his collar bone before licking one of MIke's nipples, kissing down to kneel between Mike's spread legs. There, he pauses for a moment, spreading them wider and just running his hands up and down Mike's inner thighs. It makes Mike wriggle. It tickles, but it's arousing, too, sexy in a way that Mike isn't sure how to explain. 

"I thought you said something about fingering me until I come," says Mike, to fill the silence.

Tom raises an eyebrow. "I sure did. And hey, since you're wearing this cute little jockstrap," and with that, Tom snaps one of the straps on the jockstrap, making Mike jump and gasp, "you can just stay in it. Roll over, I'll get the lube."

Mike rolls over onto his stomach, unsure of whether to go up onto his hands and knees. He can hear Tom opening a drawer, grabbing something out, then shutting it again. Mike closes his eyes as Tom gets back on the bed.

"Up on your knees," says Tom, grabbing him by the hips and guiding him up. "Good. Spread your legs a little. Yeah, like that. Go down on your elbows. Fuck, you look so sexy."

Mike shivers, and Tom rubs a big hand down his back.

"You cold?"

Mike shakes his head. "No, just... just turned on."

Tom chuckles and squeezes Mikes hip. "Good," he says. 

His hands disappear, and Mike hears a cap open. Mike licks his lips, shifts on his knees a little.

"It might be a little cold, okay?" 

"That's fine."

Tom lays one hand on Mike's asscheek, and pulls it back a little. Mike flushes, thinking about the view Tom must have. Mike on his knees with his head down, ass up in the air, legs spread, with a bright red jockstrap.

It is a little cold, when Tom first touches his fingers to Mike's hole. Mike assumes he's going to push in, straight away, but Tom doesn't, just rubs what Mike thinks is his thumb over Mike's hole, circles around it. Tom spends enough time doing that, that Mike stops expecting anything more, relaxes into it, which is exactly when Tom pushes just the tip of his finger in before removing it just as quickly.

"Aw, c'mon man," complains Mike.

"What? What do you want?"

"You know."

"No, man, you gotta tell me."

"I want... fuck, I want your fingers in me. Put your fingers in me."

"Well, since you asked so nice," says Tom, and re-ups on lube before slowly pushing one finger completely in. Mike sighs, and he can feel his shoulders dropping down, his hips arching up.

"Fuck, yeah," says Tom, moving his finger, slowly. "Look at you, you were made for this." 

He pulls out, adds more lube, and sticks another finger in. There's so much slick that it's running out of Mike's crack, starting to drip down his balls. Tom is still moving so slowly, sending hot, syrupy waves of arousal through Mike's body, starting at his hole and moving into his cock, and then, it feels like, all the way down to his toes. He keeps trying to arch his back more, to try to get more of Tom's fingers further in there, but he physically can't. He realizes he's grabbing onto the sheets with white knuckles, his mouth open against the pillow, moaning, drooling. He's glad, suddenly, that he's facing away from Tom. He doesn't want to have to worry about using Tom's face to guess if he's enjoying himself, trying to sculpt his own face into something sexy. He can just kneel here, and tilt his hips up, and moan deep when Tom presses down on his prostate. He doesn't care if he looks stupid. He's so fucking turned on.

Tom pulls his fingers all the way out, and Mike moves his foot back in an aborted kick.

"No, please, please don't stop, Tom--"

"Hey, hey, hey," Tom soothes, smoothing his non-lubed hand down Mike's back. "I'm just getting more lube, bud, don't worry about it." 

Mike nods and settles, and Tom pushes back in with three fingers, pushes down on Mikes prostate at the same time that he presses his thumb against Mike's perineum. Mike's head shoots up, and he comes up onto his hands. He knows he's wiggling his hips in a weird way, but he doesn't know whether he wants to press in closer or try to get away from the feeling. It's so intense, being pushed at from both the inside and the outside. He feels like Tom is playing him like some sort of instrument. 

"Good," says Tom. "Good, good." He finally leaves off but sneaks his hand down to rub over Mike's cock, laughs. "Hey, you got a wet spot, bud. I can feel it. Take a look."

Mike drops his head down between his shoulders, and, yeah, Tom is right, there's a wet spot on the jockstrap where his cock has been leaking precome.

"Describe it to me," says Tom, and Mike is simultaneously aroused and terrified by the teasing tone in Tom's voice.

"What?" Mike gasps.

"I can't see it. Describe it to me."

"It's, um, it's--fuck!" 

Tom chooses that time to spread his three fingers and twist.

"C'mon bud, time's a-wasting."

"It's darker than the rest, it's made the, fuck, the fabric dark." Mike can't tell if it's the blood rushing to his head, embarrassment, or arousal, but he almost feels light headed.

"Yeah? Is your dick hard?"

"Yeah. It's really, really hard, Tom, please--"

"Is it big?"

"What?"

"Is the stain big? Did you leak so much precome, just from me fingering you?"

"Tom, I can't--"

"Yes, you can. Tell me."

"It's--I--fuck--" and Mike feels transported back, to some of his favorite pornos back home on his laptop. Some of his dirtiest fantasies. Being pinned down, made to obey. He feels like he's living in one of those fantasies, and it just feels right to say, "It's big. It's so big, sir, I leaked so much."

"Sir, huh?" Tom squeezes the back of Mike's neck. "I like the sound of that." He puts his hand on the back of Mike's head and pushes his face down into the pillow. "Touch your cock. Only over the jockstrap, though."

Mike hadn't realized he had been waiting for permission until Tom gave it to him. His hand shoots to his cock, massages it through the fabric. It's rough now, from being wet, chafing his cock. It hurts. It feels good, though, the pain, a sharp counterpoint to the heavy, warm pleasure of Tom still fucking Mike's ass with his fingers. He breathes in, hard and fast through his nose, letting out little, "_hah, hah, hah_"s as he can feel his balls pull up.

"You gonna come?" asks Tom. 

"Yes, yes!"

"You gotta ask, bud."

"Can I?"

"Hmm, I dunno. Maybe ask more politely."

"Please, can I come?"

"Not nicely enough."

"I don't understand, I--"

"Yes you do. C'mon, you're a smart kid. You know what to do."

"I--please, please, sir, can I come? Sir, please?"

"Good boy. Yeah, go ahead."

Mike's back bows even harder than it already was as he arches, both into Tom's fingers in his ass and into the press of his own hand. His orgasm slams through him. It feels like it lasts forever, and he's still dazed when Tom pulls his fingers out, helps him lay down on his side. He realizes he's still holding himself, cradling his cock between his legs, and he brings his hand up to rub it over his face, grimaces when he accidentally smears come over his cheek. Tom laughs, and Mike swats at him, misses. Doesn't care enough to try again.

"Fuck, dude," says Tom, stroking a hand up and down Mike's thigh.

"Yeah. I came like a fucking freight train."

"I know. You clenched up so hard you literally pushed my fingers out."

"Really?" Mike looks up at Tom and realizes that Tom's still in his stupid football pants. "Dude, you've had those on the whole time?"

"Yeah, I undid the zipper because it was getting uncomfortable but like, there was never really the chance to take them off." With that, Tom climbs off the bed and pushes his pants and underwear down, steps out of them, jacks his hard cock a couple of times. 

"You wanna go again?" asks Mike. "You wanna fuck me?"

"I mean, totally, if you want to. But like, if you don't you could just suck me off, or I could jerk off on you. Whatever. You came super fucking hard, man, I don't blame you if you're not up to getting fucked right now. And we could always do it in the morning, anyway."

Mike takes stock of himself. He feels... he feels like he could keep going. He's 20, and he's always had a pretty short refractory time.

"How about... I suck you for a while, and then you fuck me?"

"Hey man, sounds good to me." Tom gives him a lopsided grin. "You wanna come sit on the edge of the bed?"

Mike nods, and shifts to sit in front of Mike, a reversal of their positions last night. He goes to take off his own jockstrap, but Tom gently touches his shoulder.

"Uh. Would it be okay if I told you to keep that on?"

"Um, well. It'd be pretty gross. I already came in it."

Tom smiles down at him, blushing a little. "Yeah, that's kind of the point for me. I like the idea of you being... like, all messy, and making you sorta... sit in it. And then I'm gonna make you come again later, and make you even messier. Is that a good kinda gross, or a bad kinda gross?"

Mike thinks about it. It's getting cold, now and not super pleasant, but he doesn't think it'll keep him from getting hard again. And he can tell by the way Tom is avoiding his eye contact, and more from the way that Tom's cock is twitching in front of his face, that Tom really, really likes the idea. That really makes up his mind more than anything.

"Yeah, that'd be okay."

"Wicked." 

They smile at each other like doofuses for a while before Mike sucks Tom's dick into his mouth.

It's different than last time Mike sucked Tom's dick, since Mike has already come. More relaxed, maybe. Mike feels more comfortable to just, like, relax his jaw and let Tom grab him by the back of his head, gently thrust his dick into his mouth. Tom's very polite about it, he never even gets close to thrusting down Mike's throat. But there's something peaceful, almost meditative about the feeling of Tom's cock rubbing over his tongue. Mike really doesn't have to do anything. He can just sit here, and let Tom do what he wants to do. Being useful by being passive, something Tom can just manipulate how he wants, when he wants it, to make him feel good. He's so peaceful that he doesn't notice he's gotten hard again until Tom pulls out, gives him a little tap on the cheek. Mike opens his eyes, not remembering when he'd closed them.

"You wanna fuck?" asks Tom, nodding down to where Mike is pressing up against his jockstrap again.

Mike has to clear his throat a couple of times before he can say anything. "Totally."

"Here, open," says Tom, and Mike pliably relaxes his jaw and opens his mouth without thinking about it. Tom grabs a water bottle off his desk and squirts some water into Mike's mouth for him. It reminds him so viscerally of sitting on the bench during a game that he almost snorts. 

"Thanks, man."

Tom puts the water bottle back, then grabs Mike by the hair at the back of his head and cranes Mike's neck back to look up at him. Immediately, Mike's focus comes back, and he can feel heat inside him building already.

"Here's what I want you to do. I want you to grab the pillow, then lie down on your front and put the pillow under your hips. Then, I want you to be good, and _wait for me_, and not rub that mess that is your cock right now against my nice pillow case, like a little bitch who can't follow orders. And don't peek. You hear me?"

Even though he just took a drink, Mike has to swallow a couple of times before he can answer. "Yeah. Yes, sir."

Tom smirks down at him. "Good. Do it."

Mike jumps to it, grabbing the pillow case and fitting it under his hips, then lying down with his face down in the mattress so he isn't tempted to look. He can hear Tom moving around, and then, very conspicuously, the sound of a shutter snap. Mike starts, and Tom lays a gentle hand on the back of his ankle. Mike knows that Tom would have to purposefully take his phone off silent and turn the volume way up for Mike to be able to hear that shutter sound. He takes the touch on his ankle for what it is, a silent, _is this okay? _

"Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm taking pictures of you." Another, firmer squeeze of his ankle. _Seriously, is this okay? _Mike gives him a thumbs up. Tom squeezes again, and then lets go.

"Why?"

"Because you're sexy. Because I want to. Don't need a better reason that that." The sound of the shutter again. Mike thinks that right now, Tom is just taking pictures of his whole body, from the foot of the bed, but he isn't sure.

"Who're they for?"

"Me. You, if you want them. If you do something to earn getting to see them."

Mike licks his lips. "Oh."

"Why? You want me to show them to someone else?"

"Oh, I don't know--"

"Maybe my teammates, huh? Let them see the hot piece of ass I'm fucking? Brag to them about it, how you came just from being fingered?"

Mike's breath stutters. He's shocked at how much he likes the idea. "Sir--"

"Maybe next time you come down, we could invite a few of them over. I don't know how many of them are into men, but like, at the end of the day, a hole is a hole is a hole, right? I'm sure I could talk a few of them into taking you for a ride. I mean, at least three or four."

Mike keens at the idea, three or four guys all lined up to fuck his ass, Tom there, directing the whole thing. He doesn't mean to move his hips. It's just so hard to stay still. He still yelps when Tom slaps his ass, hard.

"I told you not to rub that mess all over my fucking pillow case. If it leaves a stain, you're gonna be licking it up, pal." Mike bites the mattress beneath him to muffle the sound he makes. Tom laughs. "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Maybe that's not such an effective punishment. Here, spread your cheeks. I wanna take a picture of your hole."

It goes on like that, for... honestly, for Mike doesn't know how long. _Spread them wider. Good. Arch your back. Stick in a finger, yeah. All the way. Fuck yourself. Pull out, just rub over your hole. Okay, put it back in. Does that feel good? Good, good boy. Stick in another. Hold it like that, lemme get--yeah, that's the angle. Spread your fingers. More. I wanna be able to see that stretch. Hold it like that, hold it. Good. You can relax, but keep them in there. Open your mouth, suck on my fingers. Look up at me. Stick out your tongue. Don't try to suck my dick, just keep your tongue there and let me rub my dick against it. Keep it open. Okay, now let me rub my dick against your face. One day I'm gonna come all over your face, take a picture of that. No, don't close your eyes. Look at me. Fuck yourself with your fingers. Yeah, that feel good? Alright, take them out. I'm gonna fuck you._

Tom puts his phone down on his desk, opens up the drawer and pulls out a condom, opens it up and rolls it on. Mike is so... almost frazzled, but at the same time, his body feels so heavy. He just watches as Tom walks back over, climbs up onto the bed behind him and straddles Mike's legs. 

"I'm gonna fuck you now, okay? It's gonna help if you sorta... bear down, almost, can you do that?"

"Yuh-huh." A squeeze to the back of his neck. Mike has to swallow lethargically, and still his speech is a little bit slurred. "Yessir."

"Good boy."

Tom kneels up over him and pushes in. Mike's eyes slide close as he bottoms out. It feels good. It feels really good, but what feels better is Tom, his weight on top of Mike, his hand still on the back of Mike's neck. The sound of Tom's pants, the slap of their skin as he picks up speed. It seems ridiculous, all of the sudden, that Mike was worried about getting fucked. Worried that he wouldn't like it. Tom wanted him to like it. Mike would do whatever Tom wanted him to do. Mike will be whatever Tom wants him to be, at this moment. He's going to be so good. He's going to be so good, and then Tom will be happy with him, and tell him he did a good job, and come, and then Mike. Mike will be so happy. 

"Fuck, I'm close," gasps Tom. "You feel so good, babe. Shit."

"Yeah," says Mike. "Please, sir, please come. I want to feel you come, sir."

"Fuck," growls Tom, and abruptly pulls out of Mike. Mike can hear him rip off the condom and throw it who knows where, then, the sound of Tom frantically jerking himself off. "Fuck, this fucking jockstrap. God, Mike. You're so good, babe, you're so sexy. Fuck, I'm gonna come. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Mike can feel Tom's come land all over his ass, over his cheeks, a little on the tops of his thighs, and even a little up to the small of his back. The only sound, for a while, is Tom's panting. Then Tom leans over, and smacks a kiss on one of Mike's shoulder blades.

"C'mon, babe, roll over. On to your front. There you go."

Mike rolls over and blinks up at Tom. Tom still has his eye black on, but it's only smudged a little. His hair is an entire mess, and he's sweating, but he looks. Really happy. He's smiling down at Mike, big and pleased.

"That was fucking wicked, man," Tom says, and leans down to kiss Mike. Mike's still a little too out of it to really reciprocate, but he tries to move his lips in an approximation of what he should be doing. Tom sighs.

"Alright, bud, roll over onto your side. Good." Tom grabs the pillow and dumps it on the floor, then spoons up behind Mike, and reaches around and rubs gently over his cock, still through the jockstrap.

"Ah!" Mike's hips jerk, and he wraps his hand around Tom's wrist on instinct. He didn't realize, because no one had touched him since he last came but he's so, so sensitive. 

Tom brushes a kiss across the back of his neck. "Too much? We can stop, and just go to sleep."

Mike thinks about it. Through the haze, he really does want to come. And really, pain has never been something that's gonna _keep _him from coming. Probably the opposite.

"No," he says. "No, I'm good. Just I think, like, gentle?"

"Yeah," says Tom, nuzzling his nose into the hair at the nape of Mike's neck. Of course.

And he is gentle, as gentle as he can be. He grasps Mike with a loose hand through the jock, and moves his hand so, so slowly. But the come has partially dried, and it's making the fabric chafe even more than before. Against his already sensitive cock, it's more painful than ever. He can't help but twitch and cry out, and Tom just holds him, presses kisses against his neck and shoulders. Says things like _good boy_, and _that's it_, and _shh, shh, shh,_ and _I know, baby, I know it hurts. I know, _until Mike is curling up in on himself and shaking through an orgasm that leaves him feeling so drained. Both physically and emotionally. He's squeezed his eyes so tight when he opens them there's a tear that tracks down his cheek. He turns around as best he can in the tiny bed, and buries his face into Tom's chest. Tom just holds him, and rubs his back, and for practically the first time all night, is quiet. But it's nice. It feels peaceful, and when Mike brings his head up, Tom is smiling at him.

"Shit, dude," says Tom.

"For real," says Mike. 

"Let's get you out of that jock strap and cleaned up, okay? And we seriously gotta change these sheets, man. We might have to burn this mattress."

Mike laughs. He sticks close to Tom as Tom helps him out of his jockstrap, as they both sit side by side and drink a full bottle of water each. But by the time Tom loans him a towel and they head out to the showers, it's enough to be in the next stall over, to see Tom's big feet, hear him absently humming some pop song extremely out of tune. 

By the time they get back to Tom's room they're both yawning. They change the sheets together, but Tom just piles the dirty ones in the middle of the room and says he'll deal with it in the morning. Then, Tom turns off the lights and they climb into bed together. In order to make two large men fit into a small college dorm bed, they pretty much have to spoon. Tom tucks himself around Mike, and settles in with a sigh.

After a moment of silence, Tom breaks it with, "That was. Dude. That was super fucking awesome."

Mike laughs.

"No, seriously man. That might've been some of the best sex I've ever had."

"...So, you'll want to do it again?"

"Uh, what part of 'might've been the best sex I've ever had' makes you think I _don't_ want to do it again?"

"Alright, alright. Well, you were running the whole show, anyway, so it's mostly on you. Congratulations."

"No, no, dude, you were so, like. I don't know, so, trusting, I guess? Like you just like let me do whatever I wanted to you."

"Well, yeah because everything that you were doing was hot as fuck."

"Yeah, but... man, I don't know what I'm trying to say. I guess, like, thanks for putting your trust in me. Or whatever."

"Or whatever?"

"Fuck you, man! I'm trying to talk about our fucking feelings and you're laughing at me!"

"Alright, bud, alright. You go to sleep. You're obviously talking crazy, you're so delirious from exhaustion."

"I'm fucking not, but alright..." grumbles Tom.

It takes... a while for Mike to drift off to sleep. But as he does, he realizes the happiness he's feeling, is. Well, partially it's from the amazing sex he just had. And part of it is from the alleviation of the anxiety that Tom isn't interested in doing this again. But there's another part of it, something that Mike's brain, slipping down into sleep, can't pin down. He thinks it might have something to do with Tom's laugh, maybe, and the way he kisses the back of Mike's neck, and his big hands and stupid smile. Mike isn't sure. But whatever. He's sure he can figure it out in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I want you guys to know that in this universe both Mike and Tom have Boston/MA accents so just. Imagine that during all the dirty talk. You're welcome. Oh also this (https://tinyurl.com/snfqguc NSFW image!) is the jockstrap that Mike wears.
> 
> Please feel free to leave kudos and comments! They are my life blood and I require them to live!


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